Counterpoint
by IaithCariad
Summary: Masaomi returns to Tokyo for a routine meeting with Izaya, but soon finds himself drawn back into the underworld along with a newcomer to Tokyo. Will he finally face his fears? Or will the city swallow him again? (Light novel spoilers, potentially)
1. Confessions of an American Student

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the works of Ryohgo Narita. I can only hope to be as amazing as him :(

Additional Disclaimer: Before any of you see an OC narrating the first chapter and run off screaming, rest assured that I dislike Mary Sues as much as you. She's not going to take over this story. Just the beginning.

* * *

_Counterpoint: In music, the relationship between two voices that are harmonically interdependent, but independent in rhythm and contour._

* * *

Confession of an American Exchange Student

一期一会

"Once in a Lifetime"

I guess what I remember most about that night was the overwhelming need to throw up.

Every few hours, I would suddenly wake up, and the wave of nausea would rise up to my mouth as my stomach emptied itself on the floor, or did its best to once it was already dry.

_"Ara, mata ka yo..."_

_"Sore iutcha dame desu yo, kanjasan no mae ni." _

_"Da~ka~ra, nihongo wakarahen ya!"_

I could never figure out where I was at first, and I remember panicking at the strange language surrounding me, and wondering if I had forgotten English. I fought back when unfamiliar hands tried to grab me, and even more when I saw the tube in my arm. After a few moments, though, I would remember that the gibberish I heard was Japanese, although my brain was too foggy to decode what they were saying, and that the tube was an IV.

And about the moment I put together that I was in a Japanese hospital, the last thing that had happened would come to the surface again. And, unlike everything else, it was crystal clear.

Specifically, the moment he died.

The boy with the brown hair. The one who had come to save me. The one they shot over and over...God, I don't know how many times…

...

…Um, sorry, do you have a glass of water?

No, no, I'm fine. I just…don't think I need to tell you all this. That was usually how much I remembered before the sedatives kicked in, anyway.

Ah, I'm telling this all wrong. You've probably read all of the important stuff in the papers by now, but I should start from the beginning, shouldn't I?

I guess you could say this started from when I was little. I never really left home much—I went to the same school in South Carolina from kindergarten through twelfth grade, and my graduating class was only 34 people. I knew everyone, and everyone knew me: salutatorian, straight As in everything, perfect driving record, perfect behavior, scholarship to my university of choice. Boring as fuck, too.

I mean, what is there to say about a straight arrow? It always goes in the direction you expect, like it's supposed to.

I was careful to never like anything unpopular, and if I did I hid it expertly. I never demanded anything, never stepped on any toes, never rocked the boat. And if I did I made sure to apologize profusely.

Maybe that's why I like Japan so much…

Oh, um, I mean, Japan is very interesting, but you have to admit, your culture at large is a lot more openly conformist than mine.

Anyway, even in college I never managed to break out of my straight-ness, keeping up my streak of As and majoring in Japanese and Linguistics. After my sophomore year, one of my Japanese professors suggested that I study abroad if I really wanted to be fluent.

Actually, I had wanted to study abroad since I was little, but since my parents were still supporting me, I wasn't sure if they would approve of something so expensive. In the end, I earned enough scholarship money not only to go on the summer program, but to have a decent stipend left over. My parents said that if I wanted to, I could stay in Japan a few extra weeks, do some touristy stuff and soak up the culture.

Heh.

The six weeks of the program were fine, except for my host mother's cousin Misao, who came over for dinner every week and spent the whole time rambling on and on about his ex-wife. After the program officially ended, I had to find somewhere else to live because my host family was going on vacation. All the other American students went home, and for the first time, I was completely alone, away from anyone who knew me.

And it was fucking awesome.

Imagine living your whole life among the same people, with the same parents, and everyone expecting you to be a certain way because that's how you've always been. I didn't want to disappoint my parents the way my divorced alcoholic brother had, and I was just too scared to find out what would happen if I ever took a step off the straight and narrow.

But here, if I did, just once—nobody would ever know, would they?

I guess you could say it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I had no idea what I was doing, but I decided to go to a club in Shibuya since I had just turned 20. It was smoky, loud, and smelled terrible, but I met a girl there—one of those girls you see at the station sometimes, with long, painted fingernails, bleached blond hair and way too much makeup—who wanted an American friend and said she would show me where the good places were.

We went to all kinds of bars, casinos, host clubs, and I fell in love with the Tokyo nightlife. Not because I enjoyed the taste of alcohol, or the boys, but because for the first time in my life, I was doing something that I wanted to do. I even tried drugs for the first time.

Although really I just hit my rebellious phase a few years late.

Looking back, I can remember wondering every so often—usually when I was falling down stairs or throwing up after I got back home—if this was actually fun, but I never gave it a second thought.

But then...well, you've read the newspaper.

That's what I'm here to talk to you about.

In the version you know, I was kidnapped by some rogue members of a drug cartel, for what purpose I'm not really sure. They drugged me and left me in a warehouse, and then the police say they ended up fighting over what to do with me and killed each other. The evidence they left behind ended up being instrumental in arresting some important members of the cartel.

But I don't think that's what happened.

There was a boy who came to rescue me. I don't know what happened exactly—it's all a little fuzzy—but he tried to save me and they killed him. I think the reason they fought was because of him, not me. If it weren't for him, I don't know where I'd be right now.

When I talked to the police, I was hoping they would tell me something about him, so that I could thank his family—and apologize. I don't think an apology is nearly enough, but I wanted to do something. But they all just kept saying that the only bodies they found were from the cartel, all of the bullets that were fired were accounted for, and I probably hallucinated the boy from the drugs. I tried to tell the reporters, and even though they said they would mention him, there was nothing.

I actually called one of them because I was so angry—and then he told me something strange. He said that he had tried to see if he could find anything, but then he got a call telling him to cease and desist, so he just wrote the article you read. Then he told me that if I really wanted to know what was going on, I should talk to you.

I don't know what all this means, but there's something going on here. Somebody died to save me, and somebody else is trying to cover it up. My selfishness is what caused all of this, and I want to make up for it however I can.

But how I feel is beside the point, isn't it?

The point is, I want to know who that boy was, and I'll do what it takes to find out.

Can you find him for me, Orihara-san?


	2. Epilogue 1

Epilogue 1

傍目八目

"Outside Perspective"

Rachel Enner sat with her legs crossed and arms folded, waiting for an answer.

She hoped she looked more confident than she felt. She had come to the information broker cool and calm, with no intention of leaving until she was satisfied. She would only say that she wanted to find someone she had met the night that had made her famous. But before she could even have a chance to speak, he had asked her about her experience that night, all of a everything came pouring out, perhaps because she had kept it bottled up for several weeks now. And as the emotions came rushing back, she found herself wanting to cry.

She only shifted, her expression unchanging.

Orihara sat at his desk in front of the large window at the front of his office, and watched her for a moment. "…It isn't really any of my business why you're looking for this boy," he finally said in English, "but it would help if you were honest with me."

That was not the answer Rachel was expecting. "…What?" she asked. Hadn't she just poured her heart in front of him?

"I mean that it would make finding him easier if you told me what else you know about this boy, other than that he has brown hair. The fact that he was American, for instance, or the fact that you had met him before." He smiled amicably.

At this, Rachel could not keep up her cool front, and her jaw dropped slightly. "How did you…" Suddenly, the significance of what he said hit her full force. "Do you already know who he is?!"

Izaya simply smiled and swiveled in his chair. "Why don't you tell me the rest?"

Rachel took a breath, then paused. "…I'm not sure this is relevant."

"Of course it's relevant, Ms. Enner."

"…Okay." Once again, Rachel took a deep breath and began.

* * *

_One week ago_

_Roppongi_

_Club "Muse"_

Rachel's host mother had mentioned once that Roppongi wasn't actually Japan, and she was starting to see why the woman had rejected it as a part of her country. It was loud and boisterous, with obnoxious hawkers trying to drag you into their sketchy club on every corner and rude drunk _gaijin_ everywhere. It felt like the parts of town she had always tried to avoid at night back home.

Mari had wanted to try snagging an American boy, and she said Rachel should get one too so they could go together. Rachel really didn't want to but in the end, she couldn't convince herself to give up the opportunity, either, so she fought through the crowds to a small, even more crowded club called "Muse."

Of course, the place was filled with foreigners. Japanese girls didn't come to places like that very often, so Mari was quite popular. After only a few minutes, she had a gaggle of boys around her, and she had completely forgotten about Rachel, who was left standing awkwardly with her drink, wondering what to do.

In all honesty, going out wasn't as fun as it had been a month ago, and she was wondering if she should just go home. The guys here all made her uncomfortable, and there was no way she would go with any of them. As she wandered back to the table, she heard Mari laugh loudly.

"Oh, her? No boy would want to talk to her. She's boring, you know?"

Rachel froze. Mari looked up, noticing that Rachel had heard, but her only response was to smirk. Rachel had never thought of Mari as a true friend, but as the group started laughing, she couldn't help feeling hurt and angry-not because of the betrayal, but because she knew it was true. She knew she was boring. Even as she was _trying_ to become interesting, all she could do was sit on the fringe and let Mari hog all the attention. Maybe she should strike out on her own... and as she turned to go, she spotted an the perfect opportunity.

He was sitting at a table, alone—a young man around her age, smartly dressed, with glasses. He looked a little out of place, but he was undeniably attractive. So much so, that she was surprised he was sitting alone. Maybe he had just arrived.

_Nobody wants to talk to me, huh?_

Well, maybe if she hit it off with the best-looking guy in the room, Mari would think twice. And maybe Rachel would have a new kind of experience under her belt before she had to return to normal life.

She approached in what she hoped looked like a casual stroll and placed her hand on the table. "Hi," she said.

He looked at her for a moment. "…Hi."

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked with a smile. It was loud, so she felt almost like she was shouting.

"I'm waiting for someone," he answered, in some sort of accent that she couldn't identify through the noise. He did not smile.

Rachel's hopes deflated a bit, but she pressed on. "Well, I can talk to you until they come, right?"

"I'm also married," he said, glancing at his left hand. "I'm not here to meet people."

_Well, there goes that. And now I feel awful. _

She realized now that that was likely why he was alone. She blushed bright red. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" _Didn't mean to_ what she wasn't sure, but she was terribly embarrassed about it nonetheless. "I'm actually not here to meet people either."

He raised an eyebrow. "Then what are you doing?"

She looked down. "I don't know."

"Then you should go home."

Rachel blinked in surprise at his blunt answer. Was he mad at her? But when she looked in his eyes, his expression was completely sincere.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I can tell this ain't your kinda place," he said. He paused for a moment, then spoke quietly, as if to himself. "…And besides, it's worth it to wait for the right person anyway."

* * *

"…and then I went home," Rachel finished. Her face felt slightly warmer than before as she remembered her conversation with him. Somehow, he had seen right through her, and even told her to wait, like a true gentleman. In fact, that was the first time that she thought it might be okay to go back to normal life. In the end, she had opted for one more night out a couple of days later—and that had landed her in her current predicament.

She didn't like the faint smile that had been on Orihara's face as she recounted the incident. He tapped his fingertips together in thought for a moment, then leapt up from his chair. "Thank you Miss Enner," he said, walking over to where she was. "Thank you _so _much."

"What do you mean? For what?"

He ignored her question, and sat on top of his desk facing her, swinging his legs like a child, his faint smile now a huge grin. "I do have the information you're looking for."

Rachel jumped up. "You do?!"

"Yes," he said. "Although it will be a bit expensive."

Rachel nodded resolutely. "I'm willing to pay."

Izaya leaned back. "Well, it will be 50,000."

Once again, Rachel nodded, reaching for her purse. $500 wasn't cheap for a student like her, but definitely manageable.

"Ah, to be clear—that amount is in dollars, not yen."

The wallet fell to the floor. Rachel stared at him incredulously. "_Fifty_ _thousand dollars_?"

"Of course, I could pare down the information significantly for a lower price, but it would still be in the thousands," he smirked. "Didn't you say you would pay?"

"Yes, but I don't have that kind of money—"

He began to laugh. "Hahaha, I was right! You couldn't be that much of a masochist, could you?"

"M-masochist?"

He walked closer to her. "You wouldn't really want to pay that much money to find the wife of the man you love and tell her you're responsible for his death, do you?" He placed his hands on her chair and leaned forward. "You think he might still be alive, don't you?"

"N-no, I just want to be responsible…"

"You're trying to find out who he is because you're still in love with him, and you're calling that 'being responsible.' Well, aren't you selfish."

Rachel couldn't respond, her head whirling with thoughts. _Is that really the only reason?_ "N-no, I'm not—"

"Yes, you are, and you want to stop feeling guilty about it, so you think going to his family is going to solve the problem. But you don't feel _that _guilty. Not guilty enough to actually _pay_."

_He's right…_Rachel felt her throat getting tight, and her eyes watering slightly. _But I can't just let go… Should I just give up after all?_

Suddenly, Izaya leaned back. "But I can give you a lead that you should be able to afford."

Rachel straightened up instantly despite herself. "Really?" she asked apprehensively.

He smirked a little. "But I can't guarantee it will lead anywhere."

* * *

_A little while later_

_Somewhere near Shinjuku Station_

Rachel strode down the streets of Shinjuku with the name Orihara had given her crushed in her hand.

_Kida Masaomi._

How the hell was she supposed to work with that? All she had paid for was more questions—now instead of trying to find one person she was trying to find two. She felt like that information broker was toying with her, knowing what she was looking for and charging way too much for just a name—

She was dimly aware that her shoulder slammed into something as she strode down the street, but she was too angry to even register the impact.

"Excuse me!" a voice called from behind her.

Surprised at being addressed in English, Rachel halted her march and turned around.

"You dropped this," a girl said, holding out the piece of paper. She was panting slightly, as if she had just been running.

Rachel took it. "…Thank you."

The girl simply nodded and turned around. She took a few steps, then paused. "If you're looking for Kida Masaomi, you can find him at Raira General Hospital. In Ikebukuro."

_The hospital?! _"Wait, how do you know-"

But before Rachel could ask what she meant, the girl had broken into a dead run back down the sidewalk.

_And where's she going in such a hurry?_

She looked down at the now-crumpled paper with the characters on it. The girl must be able to read Japanese, she guessed, but how on earth she knew where Kida was was beyond her. The thought flitted through her mind that the girl could have been making it up, but something in her expression told her she wasn't. She looked too determined to make up a pointless lie.

Regardless, since she had no idea where to start anyway, she had nothing to lose by following the girl's suggestion. She checked her watch. It was still early afternoon, and Ikebukuro was only a few stops away.

Plus, she already knew where it was, since she had checked out of there that morning.

* * *

_Ikebukuro_

_Raira University General Hospital_

Rachel felt a little strange stepping through the doors for the second time that day. Even though she was here, how was she supposed to find him?

She approached the front desk and waited behind someone else.

"I'm looking for Nishimura Misao," he said. Rachel was surprised to hear the name of her host mother's cousin. _Wonder if it's the same person?__  
_

"Do you know what ward he's in?" asked the receptionist. "You'll need to check in there."

"_Seikeigekabu._" The man answered with a word she didn't understand.

Rachel began to panic as she realized that she had no idea what had happened to Kida, much less the medical terminology for it in Japanese. As she frantically tried to think of what to say, an idea occurred to her.

She walked up to the desk. "Kida Masaomi," she said, in the heaviest American accent she could muster. Maybe if they thought she didn't speak Japanese they would just give up and take her to him without asking too many questions.

"Which ward is he in?" asked the receptionist in Japanese.

"Itai."

"_Itai?"_

"Tomodachi."

_"Tomodachi ga itai desu ka?"_

"Yeah, itai," Rachel answered blithely. "Kida Masaomi. Koko."

The smiling receptionist hid her irritation admirably, but Rachel heard her mutter, "Americans..." as she gave up and looked through the computer database.

Rachel made a mental note to apologize to the Japanese language at the first available opportunity.

_"Seikeigekabu,"_ said the receptionist finally. Without missing a beat, she grabbed a sticky note and wrote the characters on it, then pointed to the fifth floor on the hospital directory.

"Arigato," said Rachel, heading for the elevator.

Without the help of the directory, Rachel would not have been able to decode the woman's messy handwriting, but before long she had found the orthopedics ward, signed her name on the visitor log, and walked down the hall to Kida's room.

She stood in front of the door awkwardly for a moment, wondering how in the world she was going to introduce herself, or explain how she found him, or why...

_Well, here goes nothing._

She knocked on the door, then gently pushed it open, still unsure of what she would say as she poked her head in.

He was younger than she had expected, probably in high school, although most high schools didn't allow the shade of blond he had in his hair. She noticed his ears were pierced as well, but he didn't seem like a troublemaker.

He looked surprised to see her, but fortunately didn't seem upset. Rachel tried to think of an excuse, but he was the one who spoke first.

"Long time no see!"

Rachel started as the boy greeted her warmly. "Huh...?"

"Did you forget somethi...oh," he said, sitting up and looking at her more closely. "Um, sorry, I thought you were someone else. ...Speaking of, who are you?"

"Rachel Enner," she answered, walking further in the room.

"From the newspaper? Wooow, I wonder what I did to get so popular! You're the second American girl to come visit me today, although you're the first celebrity."

"I'm not a celebrity..." Rachel said uncomfortably. "I just...wanted to ask you about something."

"As long as you're not looking for Orihara Izaya, I'm fine," he said with a smile.

"I'm not," she said. "Although he did give me your name..."

His expression darkened. "I see."

"Is there a problem?"

He sighed. "Well…I don't know what he told you, but he's bad news. Getting involved with him is a bad idea, no matter what."

"I'm not getting involved with him. I'm just want to know about someone."

He shook his head and looked up at her. "It doesn't matter. He's one of the most dangerous people in Tokyo." His expression was sympathetic, but his eyes were filled with determination. "I don't know who you're looking for, but I promise you're better off not dealing with him."

Rachel said nothing. Was this lead going to be a dead end after all?

"Are you looking for information about the drug incident?" he asked. "If so, I would really leave that up to the police."

"Not really," she replied. "Like I said, I'm trying to find someone."

"Oh," he said, looking relieved. "Who are you trying to find?"

"I don't know his name, but he was a brown-haired American boy, about my age."

Kida's face lit up with recognition, and Rachel dared to hope for a moment that maybe this would lead somewhere. "From New York?"

"Maybe…he had an accent, but I couldn't hear it very well."

"I don't know American accents, but he spoke Japanese very well," he said, warming up again. "What about him?"

"…He was killed, and I think the police are trying to cover it up."

Kida looked stunned for a moment. "What…" After a pause, he spoke, still a little dazed. "If you're looking for information about _that_, I don't think I can help you. I had no idea…"

"Was he a friend of yours?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"I'm sorry…" Rachel wasn't ready to tell him about her involvement in his death quite yet.

Kida was quiet for a moment, then looked up with determination, as if he had just made a difficult decision. "...I don't know what you want to know, exactly, but I think I have some idea of what happened. There's a lot that hasn't been reported." He smiled, a little sadly. "Although I'm not sure where to begin."

"I have time," Rachel said, trying not to sound too eager. "But...could you at least tell me his name?"

He looked confused. "Didn't you know him?"

"Not really...I was just there when he...when he died," Rachel said, taking a deep breath. "And...I think he was trying to help me. I just want to know who he was."

"Did anything weird happen when he died?" Kida asked suddenly.

"Weird?"

"Like..." he trailed off, watching her face intently. "...Never mind."

He leaned back and gestured for her to sit down. She did, more confused than ever. "So, what was his name?"

Kida smiled a little bit.

"It was Firo. Firo Prochainezo."

* * *

A/N: ...I know it's supposed to be in the crossover section but I didn't want it to get lonely :( Maybe I'll put it there later-or if enough people yell at me I'll put it there now. Let me know what you think!

Also, I am looking for a beta. If you are interested, please let me know!


	3. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hehehe, some of you may have an idea where this story is going now. (Hint: Do you see "romance" in the genre? No. Stop it.)

I've thought for a long time that Firo and Masaomi would make a good duo, and when I found out that Firo actually WENT TO JAPAN I couldn't resist. I'm a lot more familiar with the Baccano novels than the Durarara ones, though, so this will be an interesting exercise trying to keep everyone in character.

On that note, I'm looking for a beta, preferably someone familiar with both Baccano and Durarara. If you are interested, please let me know!

* * *

Chapter 1

鑑往知来

"The Past Predicts the Future"

_Raira General Hospital_

_Ikebukuro_

Masaomi wasn't sure how much to tell the girl who had appeared in his hospital room. On the one hand, he could understand that she only wanted to know what had happened to her and no more. On the other hand, he had a feeling that this was what Izaya wanted by sending her here, and leaving out his own role in the situation would be playing into his hands. Complicating things even more was her apparent interest in Firo, who he knew couldn't possibly be dead...

There was no way around it.

_I guess I'll just have to start at the beginning,_ he thought_._

He had spent so long running from the past-or rather chasing it. Now was as good an opportunity as ever to practice facing it.

All he knew was that he needed to acknowledge it.

The girl was a total stranger, but maybe that was what he needed. Someone whose trust he couldn't lose, who wouldn't say "Oh...you aren't who I thought you were." Maybe he could finally do what he couldn't do back then...

"Are you okay?" Her voice broke into his thoughts. She looked anxious.

"Yeah," he said, giving her a bright, well-practiced smile. He took a deep breath.

* * *

_August 11_

_Somewhere near Tokyo_

"Masaomi?"

The boy's head rested against the wall of the train. He let out a soft sigh, but didn't move.

"Masaomi, wake up. We have to get off soon."

The girl sitting next to him nudged him gently, but there was still no response.

"You're tired, aren't you..." she mumbled, wrapping her arms around him as best she could in an awkward embrace.

In truth, he had barely slept the night before, but he wasn't asleep now, either. With all the anxious thoughts running through his head, how could he? Saki had already called him out on being distant the entire time they were in Aomori, and he figured it would be easier if he spent the long train ride back to Tokyo pretending to be asleep rather than staring off into space again.

At the warmth of her arms around him, he made a show of stretching as he sat up. "Hey, Saki."

"Do you feel better?" she asked, with her ever-present smile.

"Mmhmm," he replied.

"Next time you want to think, you don't have to pretend to be asleep."

He looked at her, but, as usual, there was no accusation in her smile. As usual, she had seen right through him. "...Thanks."

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he rested his head on hers.

They had only been in Aomori for four days, but it had felt like a lifetime.

His current employer, Izaya Orihara, had sent him to the rural northern prefecture to find some information on somebody's daughter, who was from the most remote town Masaomi had ever seen. Everything was owned by the locals, who would open and close their shops on a completely unpredictable schedule, and cows crossing the road had become an ordinary sight by the time they left. Masaomi hadn't grown up in Tokyo, but he found himself longing for civilization not long after they had arrived.

What concerned him most of all, however, was the fact that there was no Internet. For the first time since he had left Ikebukuro, he was truly cut off from his friends back home.

After a certain incident last year, he had elected to live outside of the city, and Izaya provided him with the job to do just that. He only needed to come back to Tokyo to report on certain things from time to time, although most of the time the information he gathered was simple enough he could just call in. His main source of contact was his phone, and the chatroom he used to stay in touch with his friends.

But in Aomori, it was just cows. He might have gone crazy if Saki wasn't there. He needed that contact.

And he needed to know what was going on in Ikebukuro.

Izaya was not the most trustworthy person—rather, it would be better to say that he was the least trustworthy person on the face of the earth. Masaomi knew this better than anyone, and used the chatroom not only as his link to his friends, but as a way to assure himself that he could keep them safe from him.

Who knew what Izaya could do with four days?

Thinking this, Masaomi pulled his phone out from his jacket pocket and sighed with relief when he saw that the signal had reached it again. He went to access the chatroom immediately, but at that moment it began to vibrate.

_Orihara Izaya,_ it flashed.

Groaning with exasperation, Masaomi answered.

"What is it," he asked flatly.

"That's a rude way to answer your phone. You should say 'hello' properly!" The voice on the other end laughed.

Masaomi was normally more polite to Izaya when they spoke, but today his nerves were wearing thin. "Just tell me what you want."

"I'm glad you're back in contact again," Izaya went on, ignoring Masaomi. "You were gone for a long time!"

"I can't talk now because I'm on the train," Masaomi said, cutting to the chase. "I'll call you back when we get back to the apartment."

"Oh, I'm afraid you can't do that this time," Izaya said. "You'll have to come to Shinjuku in person. Today, actually."

"...Why? All I had to find was-"

"Unfortunately, our client insisted that the information stay as confidential as possible. It can't be helped."

_What could possibly be so confidential about a country girl's hometown? _Masaomi hated face-to-face meetings with Izaya. At least over the phone he didn't have to see the smug bastard's face, although he could imagine it well enough from his voice.

"Oh, and there was a little issue with the chatroom server while you were gone," his employer continued, "so I had to reset it. The log only goes back to the 10th."

That was yesterday. Somehow, Masaomi had trouble believing that the "server error" would wipe out everything in the chat log right before he was supposed to come home...unless...

The phone in his hand creaked a little bit as his grip tightened. "What did you do?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the voice laughed. "I'll see you soon!"

"Tell me what you—!"

But Izaya had already hung up. Masaomi glared at the phone and viciously punched the "end call" button anyway, ignoring the glares of the other passengers. Saki put her arm in his. "Is everything alright?"

Saki had never resented Izaya for what he did to her and Masaomi, but she didn't hang on his every word like she used to, either. She seemed satisfied with Masaomi as her esper. Still, she always looked uncomfortable when Masaomi yelled at Izaya, and he wasn't sure she wouldn't still do something crazy if the man sought her out and asked her to. As a result, Masaomi tried to keep her away from Izaya as much as possible.

"Yeah," he replied with a sigh. "I just have to go into the city once we get back."

"Are you afraid?"

It was an odd question, as he had lived in the city for several years. Even if it was compact, it would be ludicrous to be afraid of one of the most advanced cities in the world.

No, he wasn't afraid of Tokyo. He was afraid of who he might meet. He was afraid to see the friends he had betrayed face-to-face, before he had any idea of what to say to them.

But that's another story.

As he opened his mouth to reply, an announcement came over the loudspeaker on the train. "We will be arriving in Oomiya soon. Please make sure you have your belongings..."

He shut his mouth and stood, pulling out the small suitcase that contained their belongings for the trip.

"We can go together," she said, after Masaomi didn't reply.

That was out of the question. He didn't want to see Izaya, but he wanted Saki to see him even less. "...No, I'll go ahead," he said with a smile. "I can just stay on the train into Tokyo and get this over with, and you can go ahead on home."

Saki smiled back, unreadable as ever. "Okay," she said.

Something told Masaomi that she knew he was trying to get rid of her.

After a few minutes, the train arrived. He helped her down onto the platform with their light luggage before reboarding the train. He watched her from the window, and she simply smiled and gave a small wave as the train pulled away again, taking him into Tokyo.

It didn't take long to arrive at Ueno, where he headed straight towards the Yamanote Line. Unlike the small train in the north, the station was packed full of people, all heading in different directions, each with a story to tell.

As he climbed the steps to the platform, he heard the bell that signaled the train doors would only remain open for a few more seconds. His response was almost Pavlovian as he sprinted the rest of the way up and across the platform, barely jumping through the doors before they closed. Fortunately, it wasn't rush hour.

This was home.

He had traveled to other cities in Japan while working for Izaya (and some just on vacation), but none could match the vibrant energy of Tokyo. Every district had its own personality and flavor, and something was always happening. Something was always waiting around the corner to take you away from a drab, everyday existence, if you only knew where to look.

Although you had to be careful, too.

_"We will be arriving at Ikebukuro soon. The exit will be on the right side…"_

Masaomi knew when he boarded that this line would take him through Ikebukuro to get to Shinjuku. Even so, the train announcement sent a pang through his chest. For a moment he considered getting off and wandering around, just for old time's sake.

But there was no way. What if he ran into Mikado? Or Anri? _That would be…_

I_ would be…_

Masaomi let out a sigh as the doors closed.

_I would be really happy to see them again, wouldn't I?_

* * *

_Somewhere in Shinjuku_

"Ah, Masaomi, good to see you!"

Izaya spread his arms in a gesture of welcome, although all this did was make the boy want to leave as quickly as possible.

He did not return his employer's smile. "I have no idea what's so confidential about this. It's just a farming town in the middle of nowhere." He walked forward and sat down before Izaya had a chance to put an arm around his shoulders, a gesture he always found far too familiar and kind of creepy.

Izaya seemed to notice, but he only smiled and sat down opposite him. "I'm afraid I have no control over that. So, tell me about Momo Ikeda."

Masaomi shrugged. "She was from Sai. She was basically a normal girl—she participated in all of the festivals and was the top of her class in school. She did leave suddenly after a falling out with a friend named Shizuka Inari. I don't know what it was all about."

"Did you get to talk to Inari about why she might have left?" Izaya asked.

"No…she wasn't there anymore, either," Masaomi said. "Somebody said that she was attacked by a bear. The woods are apparently pretty dangerous around there."

"Why was she attacked, I wonder," Izaya commented.

Masaomi shrugged again. "It was a bear. Maybe it was hungry."

Izaya laughed, even though Masaomi hadn't meant to make a joke. It seemed a little callous to him to laugh at the idea of a high schooler being eaten by a bear, but since when had Izaya cared about anyone?

"Anyway, that's about it. The only thing unusual was the bear attack, but that had nothing to do with Ikeda." Masaomi stood. "Can I go now?"

"Not just yet, no," Izaya said, gesturing for him to sit back down. "I have another assignment for you."

"But I just got back!" Masaomi protested.

"Oh? I thought you wanted to stay away as much as possible?"

Masaomi frowned. "I also want to rest a little."

"Well, you can do that," Izaya smiled. "I just want you to spend the night here in the city."

"...Why?" Masaomi was getting uncomfortable at the glint in Izaya's eyes. He was planning something again.

"Think of it as...general surveillance."

"On what?"

"That's not important."

Masaomi's fists tightened a little. "Stop messing with me. How am I supposed to survey something I don't know?"

"That's why I called it 'general.' All you have to do is spend the night in Ikebukuro, and let me know if anything happens."

"...Why Ikebukuro?"

Izaya simply stood up and turned around. "I really don't know what will happen, but you have a hotel room near the station. Just go spend the night there. It's very easy, no?"

"What's the catch?" Masaomi asked. "What are you expecting to happen?"

Izaya shrugged. "Maybe nothing. But if you really don't want to, I can just find someone else..."

Even though he knew exactly what Izaya was doing, he couldn't help the curiosity that began to win over his better judgment. "No," he found himself saying with resignation, "I'll do it. Just for tonight?"

"I knew I could count on you." Izaya smiled.

Suddenly, an idea struck Masaomi that made his stomach clench. "This doesn't have to do with my friends, does it?"

The older man looked at him with a bit of confusion that actually seemed genuine. "No, it doesn't."

"Because if you do anything, I swear..." Remembering the conversation about the chatroom, Masaomi's anger came back as well.

"It hurts me that you don't trust me, Kida-kun," Izaya said. "If you're upset about the chatroom, rest assured..."

"Like hell I would rest assured about anything when it comes to you!" Masaomi was taken aback at his own intensity. He didn't normally yell at his employer.

He wasn't the only one who was surprised, it seemed. Izaya was looking at him with his eyebrows raised, his expression neutral._ Go on, _ it said.

Masaomi was silent for longer than he wanted, before finally just giving a lame reply. "Just...leave them alone."

He tried to follow with something else, but he couldn't think with Izaya's unreadable expression on him. The only way he could possibly describe it was a kind of cold affection. And it was the affection part that made him want to get out of there as fast as possible. Even more than before.

"Where will I be this evening?"

Izaya sauntered over to his desk and took a piece of paper from the top of the pile with an address scribbled in the corner. "Here. It's just south of Ikebukuro Station, on the east side."

Masaomi grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket without looking at it. "Can I report this one over the phone?" He asked, standing up.

"Whatever you like."

"Do you need anything else, or can I go?"

Izaya smirked. "You don't need my permission to come and go, Kida-kun."

Unsure what Izaya meant by this, Masaomi simply walked to the door. "Well then, I'm going. Excuse me." He bowed once and left without waiting for a reply, letting the door fall shut behind him.

* * *

_(Immediately after)_

"You talk like I'm some evil mastermind who's out to destroy everything you hold dear, Masaomi-kun," said Izaya quietly to the empty room. "I care about you far too much for that. Even if I do love all humans equally...I can still have a favorite.

"After all, you perform so well."

He smirked, hopping up on his desk.

"Now, how far will you go, Masaomi-kun?"

* * *

_About an hour later_

_South of Ikebukuro Station_

_What is he planning this time?_ Masaomi grit his teeth as he thought for the hundredth time since leaving Izaya's office.

It was getting late, especially since he had stopped for dinner and a few overnight essentials before boarding the train to Ikebukuro. He had left his luggage with Saki, so all he had was his wallet, his phone, and the clothes on his back. He was looking forward to a hot bath. It had been a long day.

He stopped in front of a narrow alley. _This must be it..._

Sighing deeply, Masaomi walked down to the dirty sign for Ho el aradise-the "P" and "t" were burned out, and the final "e" was at a funny angle. He sighed again and walked down the stairs to the entrance, which was below the surface of the street, and pushed open the door.

A middle-aged man sat behind a newspaper at a cramped desk, blowing a cloud of smoke into the even-more-cramped lobby. The stained once-red carpet had faded to a sickening shade of pink, like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol past its expiration date by a few years or ten. The walls were a clashing shade of salmon (probably faded from red, as well) covered in tacky gold filigree. It probably didn't look any better than it had when the place was new.

As Masaomi approached the desk, he also noticed several empty bottles on the side of the counter. He coughed a little, but the man didn't look up from his paper until he cleared his throat. "Um..."

The man looked up and observed him disinterestedly. "Kida Masaomi?"

"Yes...how did you know?"

The man laughed hoarsely. "Ya ain't exactly our usual clientele, kid." He pulled out a key with a large wooden keychain on it and a piece of paper. "Someone called ahead for ya and already paid. Just sign to say you were here." He chuckled again.

Masaomi had no idea why the pen was bolted to the counter, or why the chain was so short, but he signed wordlessly.

"207," the man said, handing him the key. "Second floor."

He walked towards the elevator, but a piece of paper was stuck to it with "Out of Order" scrawled across in barely legible handwriting. "Are there any stairs?"

The man jerked a thumb to his left and took another drag from his cigarette. "Around back."

The stairs led to a concrete hall, open to the outside except for iron gates on either end. 207 was on the near end. Masaomi cast a glance at the gate as he unlocked his room. He knew hotel breaking and entering was unusual, but something about being so close to the outside and so near the ground made him feel a little exposed.

The room itself was about what he had expected at this point. The single overhead light cast everything in an unpleasant shade of yellow. Near the single bed was a sofa with a conspicuous sunken spot where something had broken underneath. He let out another long sigh.

He had no idea what he was supposed to see, hear, or report, or how. He rolled his eyes and headed for the bathroom. He would just take a shower and go straight to sleep. If Izaya wanted information, he would just say nothing happened. It wasn't his fault he didn't know what to look for.

After less than half an hour, he was ready to go to sleep. He turned off the light and flopped onto the western-style bed.

As he lay in the darkness, he became more aware of the sounds around him. Things like sirens, cars, motorcycles... He smiled a little. It was too quiet out in the country—he needed sounds like this to fall asleep.

He was dimly aware of someone shouting, too, but that wasn't unusual this late. The drunk salarymen heading home this time of night could get a little noisy.

But then he realized something. The shouting wasn't from outside.

Without realizing it, Masaomi sat up. He heard a loud thud, and there was no mistaking it.

The noise was coming from downstairs.

_Dammit..._

Gathering information for Izaya would not have been enough motivation to make Masaomi get up to investigate, but his curiosity was. If some sort of fight was going on immediately below him, he didn't want to get caught in something troublesome wearing only his underwear.

He tugged on his pants and shirt and crept outside, down the stairs. The stairs took him behind the desk, where he could hide behind the wall to watch what was going on. His eyes widened.

The man at the desk had a handgun pointed at a young Westerner, probably American. He was dressed like an adult, in slacks and a dress shirt, but judging from his face alone he looked about Masaomi's age. Plus, his hair was messy and falling into his eyes, and one of his sleeves was rolled up while the other was falling down. The boy's hands were raised, but his eyes were filled with fire. They flicked towards Masaomi, then back to the man with the gun.

On the other hand, it didn't look like the man at the desk had noticed. "You don't know who you're dealing with, kid. It's not nearly that simple."

The boy leaned forward. "Then go ahead. Shoot me." His voice was surprisingly calm for someone at gunpoint, and his Japanese was surprisingly fluent for a foreigner.

_Is he nuts?!_

Masaomi had heard Americans were idiotically confident, but this was ridiculous. He was already witnessing a crime by watching the man hold an illegal handgun, and the last thing he needed was to become a murder witness. He now had an idea what the "usual clientele" of this place was, and if it had anything to do with the yakuza then this guy wouldn't hesitate to kill, even if it was a foreigner.

Without thinking, he jumped over the desk, grabbing an empty bottle from the counter. The man turned toward him, but before the gun had a chance to follow the boy had rushed forward and grabbed hold of his gun hand.

The gun fired once as Masaomi brought the bottle down on his head. The boy narrowed his eyes a bit and grit his teeth, but didn't let go of the man's hand until he was unconscious on the ground. The two boys stood there for a few moments, waiting in case the man woke up. Fortunately, it only took one blow to knock him out cold.

The boy mumbled something in English, although Masaomi had no idea what he said.

"Are you okay?" Masaomi asked tentatively.

"Yeah..." the boy said. "That was pretty stupid. You could have gotten yourself killed, you know."

_Look who's talking... _Masaomi thought, peering over the counter at the boy for any sign of injury. "You're the one who grabbed the gun."

He smiled slightly. "You have a point. Thanks."

Masaomi nodded. "So now what?"

"We get the hell out of here."

"What?"

"Guns are illegal here, right? If there are gunshots, someone's going to call the cops, right?"

Masaomi didn't want to deal with the police, but... "Won't running make us look suspicious?"

"We're suspicious no matter what we do. Something tells me most of the people around here probably aren't on great terms with the police, and the police're going to wonder what a teenager is doing in the middle of them bashing people over the head." He picked up his jacket from the floor, then walked towards the door.

"But running will make me look even more suspicious," Masaomi countered.

The boy turned around, looking puzzled. "You can do what you want, you know. It's not like you need permission to stay or anything. ...Although I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about me in your story." He opened the door and let it fall behind him.

_How am I supposed to do that? _Masaomi wondered, looking at the bullet hole in the wall. He could just return to his room and pretend he had nothing to do with it.

He was supposed to stay here for the night. He had no idea if this was what Izaya was expecting to happen, if he should stay and report on the entire incident and its aftermath, or...

Or what? Was Izaya really worth getting in trouble with the police? "Ah, dammit..."

Even though he still had his doubts, he jumped over the counter. He noticed the paper he had signed earlier among those scattered over the desk. There was a little bit of blood on it, presumably from the man's head. He grabbed it and ran out of the door.

* * *

Whew! Chapter 1 down!


End file.
